Adventures in Parenting
by teasetillyoudrop
Summary: Bruce finds a baby, much to Dick's enjoyment. Established Bruce/Dick.
1. Ch1 Temporary

Disclaimer: Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson are properties of DC Comics and I make no profit from this piece.

Pairing: Bruce/Dick  
Rating: Pg  
WC: 448  
Notes: Bruce and Dick and babies. No apologies for this fluff (and whatever pops up later). :|

* * *

The baby makes another gurgling noise.

"Baby, I don't know if that's a happy or angry gurgle," Dick ruffles the baby's fine hair to make her look at him, "I can't tell what you like, little girl."

"Leave her be Dick," Bruce says without looking away from the leather bound book in his hand.

"But I brought her gifts," Dick jostles the bag on his back and hears an answering giggle.

"Yes, one bag of many."

"Well, princess deserves all the toys." Dick smiles at the little girl now watching him with big chocolate-colored eyes, "Isn't that right, baby girl?"

"She's staying with us temporarily," Bruce flips a page with resounding crackle.

"Ha!"

"Temporarily."

"Right."

"Until we can track down her parents." Bruce glances at him for a short moment. The flickered look towards the little girl doesn't escape Dick's notice and makes him smile.

Dick ignores the warning to stay unattached, "Don't listen to that old fart," Dick kisses her forehead and cheeks, laughing lightly when a wild flail of her small, clenched hand lands soundly on his cheek, "Uncle Dick's gonna make sure you stay."

Dick hears the leather recliner squeak as Bruce rises, padding towards him and the baby. Most of the older man's face is blank, but his eyes are warm when it flicks from Dick to the baby and back.

"Don't teach her anything offensive," Bruce bends down with a loud knee crack and reaches for the little girl who raises chubby arms up without hesitation.

Bruce rises faster than needed, eliciting a beautiful, joyful giggle from the child cradled in his arms.

"I didn't say anything," Dick trails after them, taking hold of a superman plush toy and waving it in the air. The little girl wiggles in Bruce's grasp and squeals, rubbing her head against a strong neck. Each surge of the toy towards the two makes the girl rub harder, pull stronger on the tufts of hair and exposed skin in her grasp.

Bruce turns from the doorway and frowns back at him, "I'm not an old fart."

Dick shakes his head at that. "Of course not," Dick can't wipe the grin off his face, "you just act like it."

Bruce spares him another look and heads down the stairs without a sound.

Before following the two Dick chances a look across the room to where Bruce sat, trying to read the title from the book's binding. Finding the scuffed and aged golden lettering impossible to read, Dick quickly strides to the book and fingers the cover.

"How to Deal With the Baby" Dick reads with happy laughter drifting through the hall. "A Guide to Handling a Bundle of Joy."

He looks towards the door when he hears another round of loud giggles.

"Temporary indeed," Dick sets the book back down and heads to the kitchen, following Alfred's admonishment about babies and cookies.


	2. Ch2 Trolling in the Deep

"Damian, how'd you feel about a baby in the house?" Dick asks the young boy after gently pulling away those annoying ear buds glued to his ears, "Bruce and I've been thinking about it."

"You can't have a child, Grayson," Damian rolls his eyes at him., "Doesn't matter what you think."

"Well, we're trying our hardest," Dick risks loosing a hand and pats the kid's knee. Giving his best, consoling face.

And Damian's face….

Damian's face might be the most priceless thing he's ever seen.

The kid's lips are curled, mouth moving open and close, eyes flitting from horrified and furious. Unflappable Damian, speechless and so very adorable.

"_Grayson, shut up!"_ Damian stands red-faced, takes a fighting stance, "I don't need to hear about your carnal-"

"Boys," Bruce glances at them on his way to the batsuit, squeaky clean and fresh from the showers.

He's wearing nothing but the plainest, darkest boxer briefs Dick gave him after Alfred had suspiciously "lost" his boxers. Some designed and ordered with a small discreet Nightwing logo, a small sign of ownership, hoping the older man would wear it during patrol.

Dick's about to groan at how unfair Bruce is when the older man turns away from them.

On his back and shoulders, angry red on alabaster skin are scratches deep enough to penetrate the suit armor, perfectly visible on broad shoulders. And a lone bite mark on a chiseled bicep.

Take that back.

The horror in Damian's face, coupled with an ill-hidden blush, is the best, most priceless thing he's ever seen.

Damian splutters, face now blazing red, and dashes for the cave entrance.

Dick can't stop the laugh he's been holding back since he knew, in his gut, how Damian would answer his question.

"What did you do now?" Bruce sighs after putting on his armored top.

"Messing with him."

"You mean traumatizing."

"Hey, he jumped to conclusion about those wannabe Catwoman's bite and scratches," Dick shrugs and picks up his domino mask. "Besides, Selina's not here to embarrass him, someone has to do it."

Bruce pauses, hands holding connecting pieces of his utility belt, "They bothered you." Another perceived failure. Not untrue, but still…

Dick moves closer and guides those strong hands, staying close after the secured clicks of the belt clasps. He raises his arms to the older man's shoulders, looks straight into those bothered blue eyes, "If anything I was jealous…And kinda horny. I mean, two of the most attractive people I know flirting."

Bruce shakes his head at that, dislodging Dick's arm while raising the suit's cowl, "The problem still stands."

"His fault for not listening before opening that smart mouth of his," Dick retorts as he jumps into the batmobile's passenger seat, "Needs to listen better."

"Pot and kettle."

"Run's in the family," Nightwing smiles and rests his arms behind his head, "So, nabbing the faker and picking our baby up from the adoption agency?"

"Yes." Bruce hops into the driver seat with a small grin

"Then lets catch ourselves a pussy."

The batmobile drowns out Bruce's groan and Dick's laugh as it roars, peeling out of the batcave for another night of patrol.


	3. Ch3 Of Value

notes: the train idea was birthed from this  . /tumblr_m9ag9cRS1i1qcs3pdo1_  then Dick came to the rescue

In the span of two weeks and two days, Nightwing has stopped a total of three bank heists, twenty armed robberies, five kidnappings, and a long expected escape of Mad Hatter.

Dick's satisfied, glad, and proud of his accomplishments. The busy weeks have been worth it. Even if temporary, Gotham is that much safer, that much quieter.

But his bones ache from days of high flying, fast swinging action. His muscles are bruised from too much fighting and adrenaline pumping it into action. The bone deep exhaustion of a job well done is good, but he's out of energy and in need of recharging.

He's completely ready for a couple of days of rest and relaxation.

After one last look at his messy, lonely, person-less loft, he decides to ride back to main base. Hopes that Bruce is sleeping soundly enough for him to snuggle.

Each and every window is dark by the time Dick gets to the mansion. Only the moon and his headlight gives him enough light to maneuver around the drive way.

He parks his bike beside the front stairs, too tired to walk it all the way to the garage. Alfred will rail on him in the morning for leaving it exposed and ready for snatching, but right now he's yawning way too much to care.

Apparently he's also too tired to be quiet, as his keys jangle and clatter, and his helmet thuds against the mahogany desk near the door.

"Sorry Alfred," Dick whispers to no one after thinking of Alfred's disapproving frown, groans when he feels more of the fatigue he's been pushing down.

He wants a nice, warm, calming bath, but another jaw cracking yawn reminds him. He'll probably pass out in the bath, and, with his luck, freak everyone and their dead parents in the house.

Ha ha, bad jokes, he is definitely _way _tootired. He picks up a portable light and trudges his way up the stairs. Careful not to trip on anything this late in the 'night'.

After peaking into their baby's room and fighting the urge to walk further into the room, Dick lumbers his way to their bedroom.

Pauses and passes their room when he sees the office door ajar.

It's not uncommon for his, Tim, and Damian's rooms to be open, but the office is sacred ground, to be kept closed unless Bruce was there.

Brows furrowed, Dick hustles to the ominous door, dimly lit by an unknown light.

He stops with a hand wrapped around the doorjamb. Mouth open to yell at the intruder.

Swallows the freak out he's feeling.

Bruce sits cross legged alone in the office, with no light and no sound. Surrounded by aged train cars and tracks.

The waxing moon casting dim light all over the room, leaving more dark corners and exaggerating the scars and dips littered all over Bruce's back.

The horror he feels,_ is he hallucinating, a hallucinogen by Joker-Crane-Tetch_, wars with worry.

Because Bruce's shoulders are drawn in, hunched and vulnerable. His head hanging low.

The shining undercurrent of charisma that drew all of them in, including Dick, gone and replaced by something that feels so wrong.

In the dark, book surrounded room.

Nothing but a very low hum of grief, of childhood lost, of childhood never finished.

Dick's hands tighten on the wood underneath his fingers, but as much as he'd like to help…

Bruce sitting unguarded…

Bruce playing…

Is something that he feels he shouldn't intrude on…

It freaks him, but he doesn't know if it's some type of therapy.

Dick wonders if he could have somehow helped with this when he was a kid. If whatever this ritual is would be less sad, less heart breaking, if he'd known about it.

Wonders if Bruce has done this for years. All alone, in this dark, still room.

Because he can't say anything right now.

He remembers playing with toys all throughout his childhood, both in the circus and in the mansion.

Bruce doesn't.

He remembers laughing wildly as he flailed in glee.

Bruce probably hasn't.

Ever.

With the toys he's handling.

His movements are too mechanical. Too much like mimicry. There's no feelings of joy in it, just echoing longing.

The way Bruce handles the toys are too agonizing for Dick so he steels himself to enter and just be there for the other man, to help in whatever problem he's currently battling.

Dick feels a tendril of fear as he walks into the room. Hesitates a little with each step that brings them closer.

_What would Bruce's face be like?_

_What would his eyes say?_

Every step he takes is like a small stab of pain.

Not for himself. He's gone through a childhood richer than anyone he knows. He remembers playing, carefree and flying, with his parents.

But Bruce...

Bruce was young.

A scared young, way too young child.

Who's parents were always busy, except those rare, sporadic days, when they could laugh lovingly with their young, young boy.

Dick knows that he's right. Bruce and Alfred have never brought it up, but he knows it. That as much as the Wayne's loved Bruce, they were very important, busy people. That's why Bruce loves them, with so much of his heart.

Why the older man is sitting alone in the main office, with nothing but the waxing moon illuminating the room and an aged train set laid out around him.

Dick walks across the room without a single reaction from the distracted man. Has his arms around that strong neck before he hears Bruce's loud intake of air.

Shaky.

As those drooping broad shoulders rise slightly under his own arms. Not enough to be defensive, just enough to protect.

"Hey," Dick's voice cracks in the middle, tiredness, emotion, not good enough. "Hi," he tries again with a confident, tender kiss to a graying temple.

"Hi."

Dick has so many questions, most a variation of _Are you okay_. But they all feel out of place. He doesn't know if anything he says is welcome.

He's been away too long, he can't read Bruce in this state.

So he settles for curling around the larger man, wrapping his arms around that large chest and laying his head on scarred shoulders.

They lapse to silence. Uncomfortable in weight.

Bruce flips the coal train in his right hand's grasp, idly running his fingers against the old, hand painted surface. Dick rests his head against the older man's right shoulder, watching those deft hands while his own arms rest loosely around Bruce's waist.

"I…" Bruce starts, drifts, not brooding but not happy either, "I was thinking of what to give her today." He flips the cart upside down and runs a careful finger against the wheels, "I haven't really given her anything, and I thought about this little set my parents gave me…"

Bruce's words conflict with his voice. The nonchalance failing to hide the soft, almost confused musing.

"I'm sure she'll love it," Dick kisses him on the shoulder.

"It's quite old," Bruce continues, as if his other hand hadn't lowered to squeeze the arms around him, "and outdated. With so many imperfections."

"She'll love it anyway," Dick takes a deep breath, "It's from her Papa, she'll love it forever."

"I don't think it's safe for her."

"You play with it."

Bruce utters an abrupt, painful, jarring, chuckle before peeling one of Dick's hands off of him, to kiss its palm and place a train car squarely in the middle, "I meant to give them to you back then, but…"

Dick moves a little off of Bruce, briefly inspects the toy before putting it down beside them, curling back onto the older man with his legs under strong thighs and his cheeks against Bruce's warm back, "I'm okay without it Bruce, you and Alfred gave me more than I could ever want."

"I just…" Bruce takes another deep breath that moves Dick's head with the motions. "My parents gave these to me the last Christmas we celebrated. I didn't play with it back then. I was too captivated by masked heroes and ingenious detectives."

"Such a book worm," Dick smiles into the older man's back, hopes Bruce takes the escape he's offering.

"Very much so," Bruce sounds self-deprecating, wistful, "I didn't think these blocks of carved wood would be entertaining. And by the time I did want to, I couldn't stomach it… laughing without my parents sitting near."

"All the more reason to give them to her," Dick knocks Bruce's legs a little, "She'll have someone to laugh and play with."

"I did think about that," Bruce smiles, and Dick knows it's a smile by the light amused sound of his voice, "Though Damian should be the one joining her."

"Maybe, but he won't do it until he's jealous," Dick rubs his head harder against Bruce's back. He stretches his legs and knows he's about to feel pin pricking numbness, but the lulling silence of the room and Bruce's constant, rumbling voice in his ears are making him sleepy, even if his heart wants to learn more. "And he's only jealous when you're not paying enough attention to him."

"You really should stop teasing him."

"Hey, a," _big brother_ hangs ugly in the pause, makes Dick frown a little, "someone needs to remind him to let up a little."

Bruce shakes his head, cricks his neck until it makes a gross popping noise.

"Now let's go to bed," Dick exaggerates his yawn. He's dead on his feet when he rises, actually has to hold onto Bruce's back so he doesn't topple over and wake up everyone in the house. He whacks Bruce behind the head when he feels those shoulders shaking a little, "I really would like to have a bed under my butt right now."

"You've only been sitting for a couple of minutes," Bruce stands, twisting and stretching the stiffness out of his torso, drawing Dick's eyes to the little peek of skin below his plain sleeping shirt.

"I've been working you ungrateful invalid," Dick pouts, "You know, while you get to play with cute little Max."

"She hasn't been here since you left," Bruce faces Dick with a crooked grin that shouldn't make him forget he even wanted a bed or sleep, "Auntie Babs 'requested' time with her."

"You mean Babs took her with Alfred's permission?"

"Max looked happy enough when I visited," Bruce saddles up to him. Takes hold of his hips in a gentle grip.

"Ah…"

"No one's in the house."

"Alfred?"

"With Leslie," Bruce kisses him behind an ear.

Dick's tired, but he sure as hell wouldn't miss this.

Bruce initiating, humoring him with eyes so calm and serene. Content.

He grabs the arm snaking around his waist, dragging the older man closer. Beaming, he pecks the corner of Bruce's lips and is about to give the older man the breath stopping kiss Dick's been dreaming for days when Bruce goes down in front of him. He has a moment of white hot lust shooting burning need all over his body before he's airborne.

"_Bruce!_" Dick grabs at air before landing on confident arms, bridal style with his erection proudly tenting the front of his jeans.

"We're both tired," Bruce eyes shine bright, with mirth only just under the surface.

"How can you be…" Dick's mind clicks, pinches that oh too amused face, hard, "You were supposed to be _resting_."

"Justice League business," Bruce shakes his hand off, kisses him on the forehead.

"My body feels like lead and I'm so turned I can't even get angry."

Bruce shrugs, "Rest first. The others won't be back for two more days."

"I'd sleep but," Dick gestures to his crotch, "You gonna help?"

"I'd rather watch."

Dick pinches Bruce's other cheek, just so he'd have two red marks on his stupid face.

And Bruce laughs loud, from deep within his massive chest, as he carries his husband up the mansion stairs.


End file.
